The Hard Way
by S. Thanatos
Summary: AU. It's Ron's Sixth Year and the beginning of the war against You-Know-Who. Secrets abound at Hogwarts, and the biggest one is a mysterious boy with green eyes and a strange scar. What's so important about Harry Potter? Ron's going to find out.
1. Part the First

Chapter One

It happened in Ron Weasley's Sixth Year, at the very start, when he was hexed by Draco Malfoy to fall down the stairs and broke his left wrist. They normally waited at least a month into the school year before wounding each other seriously enough to warrant a trip to the Hospital Wing, but this was the year that war had officially been declared and tensions erupted early.

Ron lurched his way to Madam Pomfrey's care, slightly shocky from the pain. She tutted when she saw his pale face and directed him to one of the beds. "By the time you've done healing, it'll be past curfew," she warned. "You'll have to stay overnight."

Exhaustion was already dragging Ron's eyelids down, so he nodded and yawned simultaneously, then settled into the thin mattress with its scratchy blankets. There was a reason why he hated to stay overnight in the Hospital Wing; they always tended to give him the wonky beds. Everyone else he knew of that managed to land in there always got a cushiony mattress and fluffy pillows – Ron got no pillows at all.

Hours later, Ron opened his eyes again. He would never be entirely sure of what had woken him: a shift in the shadows, the murmurs of two soft voices, or maybe even the encroaching sense of 'This Is Destiny Approaching, Pay Attention!' Once he was awake, what he did see was a tall shadow of a man holding a still boy in his arms, and the familiar form of Albus Dumbledore trailing after. Madam Pomfrey could be heard in her office, muttering to herself and gathering potions.

The tall man laid down his burden onto a bed in the far side of the room, one that had curtains to pull around it. Ron could hear a sigh, and then a barely audible whisper, "He'll be alright. He's had worse; he's more exhausted than anything else."

Dumbledore's voice was similarly quiet in response. "This would not have happened if he had been at Hogwarts." The accusation was simple and straightforward.

The man nodded. "Yeah, figured that after last year… but I'd hoped that if I could put up more wards…. Well." Despite being a whisper, the man's voice took on a steely tone. "You'll have your desire now, Albus. I leave him to your care while I hunt the traitor down." He placed one long-fingered hand on the head of the boy he had carried, then let go and turned to leave.

"You won't even wait for him to wake?"

The man paused. "He knows what must be done. I've raised him well – despite all your misgivings. I'll be in touch… and I'll be back to retrieve my godson."

Dumbledore said, simply, "Be safe, Sirius."

It seemed to Ron that he watched Dumbledore lean over the boy for a long time after that, and then there was sleep once more.


	2. Part the Second

**Chapter Two**

When he woke the next morning, Ron was the sole occupant of the Hospital Wing. He shrugged off the previous night's happenings as a strange mix of dreams and got himself to breakfast, where he endured the furious glances of his fellow prefect Hermione Granger. While he hadn't lost his House any points for fighting Malfoy as no teacher had caught them, he still set a bad example for the first and second years; he knew this. She knew that he knew this because she screeched it into his ear often enough. But Ron could never seem to stop the strange antagonistic dance he and Malfoy had been engaged in ever since their first year – and no amount of pestering by Know-It-All-Granger would make him stop.

Up at the Head Table, Dumbledore was curiously absent…. Ron noted that with detached interest, some voice in his brain saying, "Remember that fact." He shoved the voice away and went back to eating with gusto, before heading off for his first class of the day: Charms.

Life settled into a normal pattern for the next three days. Ron ate, slept, practiced Quidditch, attended classes, and did homework. Occasionally he fought with Malfoy. Everyday he fought with Granger.

It was that last fact on the fourth day that would change his life dramatically, leading him down the path to saving the world, getting the girl, and tickling the sleeping dragon. They'd just had a spectacular row in the middle of the Common Room, with their entire House witness to the event: she had been screeching, he had been screaming, and both had said things that made the innocent little First Years blush (and the not-so innocent Third Years take notes on.) His face a thundercloud, Ron grabbed for his broom and stalked out the portrait entrance. He didn't bother to reply to the angered, "Weasley! It's _after hours_!" that echoed like a banshee behind him. If he stayed where he was any longer, he'd be sent to Azkaban for homicide. His only defense would be that it was justifiable.

He began to head for the Quidditch pitch. The long walk served to cool him down slightly and he began to feel, ever so slightly, bad for what he had said. Granger truly wasn't all bad all the time; just most of the time, and she was better than even Malfoy at getting under his skin. That might have had something to do with the way she was practically best friends with his little sister – Ginny had had a hard time in Transfigurations her Third Year, and McGonagall had gotten Granger to tutor her. It was seldom to see one without the other.

Ron sighed, frustrated, and changed direction once he'd left the school. He wasn't in the mood to be in the open right now, and the Quidditch pitch was just too exposed. With his luck, Snape or Filch would catch him outside and he wouldn't even be able to make up any believable prefect duties to excuse himself. He could just imagine their hateful sneers as they assigned him detention. No; it was better by far to just head for one of the remote courtyards that had lain abandoned for decades, result of Hogwarts' population shrinking with each successive generation. There wasn't much space to fly there, but at least it was _something_.

He rounded the corner and was at the courtyard's entrance when he stopped. There was someone else already there – a dark figure on a broomstick, circling high above him. Through the early evening's dim light Ron could see that it was a boy, but a boy he'd never met before; a boy who flew as if winged with effortless grace that made Ron swallow convulsively.

The boy looped one heart-catching last time before landing. Unable to stop himself, Ron breathed, "That was bloody brilliant."

At the sound of his voice, the boy looked up, startled. Even from the distance Ron could tell that the boy's eyes were unusually green. Those eyes widened beneath thick lenses and a fringe of black hair, and the boy turned and ran. Ron watched in bemusement. Looking after the now-disappeared boy, Ron saw that his broom had been left behind. He didn't think it had been a careless act – the boy moved too easily in the air not to love the broom he rode – but still, nights were getting chill and if left outside, the broom's wood would most likely crack. He picked it up thoughtfully, still looking at the spot the boy had run off to.

Slowly, still gripping the broom, he turned and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He strangely no longer had the need to go flying.


	3. Part the Third

**Chapter Three**

Dean and Seamus had questioned him about the second broomstick he carried into their room that night. Neville was too engrossed in studying for his Ancient Runes test to even look up, but then, he was never much for Quidditch and flying anyway. It was one of the many reasons why he didn't mesh entirely well with the other boys of Sixth Year Gryffindor. Ron tossed away the vague thought that maybe he should make an effort to be friendlier to the other boy – after all, Neville had never expressed an interest in getting to know any of them either, and it wasn't like they hadn't tried at various points in the past.

He waved the other boys off and settled in to finish up his Transfigurations' homework, before giving up in half an hour to get to sleep. Fights with Granger took a lot of a person, and Ron found his thoughts more preoccupied with the strange boy than with the stages of turning a plant back to a seed.

The next morning was normal; and the classes following it were as well (except for an unfortunate Jelly-legs jinx gone wrong in Prof. Lupin's Defense class). Despite this, Ron felt anticipation tingling in him through all of them. His thoughts constantly went back to the broom he'd stashed beneath his bed – a broom of unfamiliar make and model, with smooth polished wood that gleamed even in dull light. He dodged all of Granger's many attempts to quarrel during dinner and dashed upstairs afterwards. Before anyone could see him to stop him, or worse, tag along, Ron grabbed the broom and ran out to the courtyard.

He was sure that the boy would be there again.

But he wasn't.

Well, he wasn't anywhere that Ron could see him. Ron glanced around impatiently, even waited for a full hour, before huffing and walking back to his room at a much slowed pace. Despondency made him drag his feet and hang his head; the broom was held limply by his hand. Meeting up with Malfoy in the hallway leading to Gryffindor tower livened him up, however.

Malfoy's customary sneer was present in all its hateful glory; backed by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, he puffed himself up to twice his size. "What's the matter, Weasley? Tried to go out for a spin, only to realize that your hand-me-down broom finally exhausted all its flight charms?"

Ron glared half-heartedly. He didn't know why the failure of his plan to meet with the boy again had affected him so deeply; nevertheless, all he felt in response to Malfoy's detestable presence was the familiar surge of loathing. "Sod off, Malfoy," he growled.

"Oh, no," Malfoy smirked. "I think I'll just dispose of your sub-par Quidditch equipment for you-" and he reached out to take the broom from Ron. Ron yanked it out of Malfoy's grasp, however, and the sudden movement prompted Malfoy to actually look at it. His eyes widened comically and his mouth formed an 'o' of shock. "You—" he gasped, "where did you-!"

"What?" Ron asked, honestly confused. He looked from the handle of the broom to Malfoy's paler-than-usual face. "What is it?"

"That's a **_Lightningbolt_**! They've only just been _made_, how in the world did you get a hold of one!"

Ron looked at the broom with newfound appreciation. Anything that made Malfoy so envious was definitely alright in his books; and if it was as spectacular as Malfoy was making it seem… He turned a smirk onto Malfoy and didn't bother to answer, instead brushing past the struck dumb Slytherin and his goons. "Hope you're ready for our match next month," he said nonchalantly over his shoulder, and rounded the bend.

He was still riding high on his victory over Malfoy as he entered the Common Room. Ginny looked up at him expectantly from her chessboard. She knew that he'd been anxious about something all day, but not what. As his little sister (and a nosy brat), she took it upon herself to learn every detail of his life. To forestall the inevitable interrogation, Ron bee-lined to her armchair. He cast a critical glance over the board – Ginny was winning, but it was a deceptive sort of game; in five moves she'd be on the outs and her opponent would be swooping in to take the king. He looked on the other side of the board to Ginny's opponent where inquisitive brown eyes met his calmly; Granger was really getting quite good at the game. In another month or two he might even consider playing her again, so long as she made it challenging.

"All right," he sighed long-sufferingly. "Out with it."

Ginny scowled. It looked quite ridiculous, as if she were trying to be their Mum. "Where've you been?"

"Just out," he said. "Look, I'm not the twins; I'm not trying to make trouble or anything. There's something I want to do but it's not dangerous and it's not breaking any rules. So you-" he cast a glance over to Granger and included her in his warning, "and you, keep out of my business. If it's to do with family, I'll let you know, Gin. And if it's to do with school, you'll be the first I tell, Granger." He nodded to both and turned to go, not entirely sure why he was being so curt, but knowing it had something to do with disappointment over not having had his hopes met. Granted, he did get to one-up Malfoy, and that took most of the sting of it away… but not all, not nearly. To show he wasn't being a complete prat, he said absentmindedly, "For heaven's sake, Gin, protect your rook, else you'll be dead soon," and smiled when he heard his sister's delighted "Ah-ha!" and Granger's outraged squawk.

Oh well, Ron thought. He'd just have to try again tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: Okay! The next chapter will be waaaay longer and will introduce the actual action, I swear! Sorry for all the excessive set-up; but it _was_ slightly necessary. Thank you to all of my reviewers for encouraging me to write and sending me thoughtful comments! And yes, to the overwhelming question: the entirety of this story will be written from Ron's perspective. I'mthinking of it as a challenge, and if anyone finds that my Ron voice is off somehow, please let me know so I can continue to work on it - this series is really just my warm-up for an epic Ron-centric fic I've got in the works (well, Ron-centric in that it's once again written in his voice, but Harry and Hermione are strong characters as well). Ack, I'm babbling! Well, I hope you like this latest chapter, and good night! 


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